


Benefits

by seizethelight



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Authority Figures, Come Eating, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Suit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizethelight/pseuds/seizethelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck's boss can be kind of a hardass, but keeping everything running smoothly for him is Chuck's job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://pacificrimkinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/87097706284/herc-chuck-and-everyone-else-office-au) on the [Pacific Rim Kink Meme](http://pacificrimkinkmeme.tumblr.com/): 
> 
> **Herc/Chuck and everyone else - Office AU**   
>  _I have a serious smart suit kink so I’m after an AU where everyone from the movie works at some kind of ultra-posh skyscraper building in the kind of offices which make me scared to breathe in case I infect them with my peasant genes._
> 
> _Lawyers, high-flying businessmen/women, CEOs meeting to bemoan the idiots they hired as employees…whatever, the choice is yours. Just give me swanky offices and suits so sharp you could cut yourself on them._
> 
> _Oh, and a side of Herc/Chuck smuttiness while wearing said suits would be lovely!_
> 
> This was a quick fill, so I ended up focusing on the last part more than anything. Thanks for the prompt!

All things considered, Herc's a good boss, someone who expects the best, but rewards his team’s performance with raises, excellent benefits, and more vacation days than Chuck knows what to do with. And they're long hours, but other than his dog there's not really much for Chuck when he’s not at the office, no one clamoring to fill the limited stretches of free time in his agenda. Herc Hansen’s job at Pentecost Ltd is to make the world a better place, Chuck’s job is to make that easier for him to accomplish. 

Herc's in early today, seven-thirty, just as Chuck’s sipping his coffee and booting up his computer, he strides in. Their floor is empty, save Chuck, and he doubts the man even sees him as Herc heads into his office, door clicking shut behind him. Chuck’s not usually due in until eight, but didn't sleep much last night, so he’s at his desk with the hope of catching up his emails, getting enough of a head start on his to-do list so that he might actually get a lunch break, come noon. 

Chuck’s not scheduled for their morning meeting until nine, when Herc’s coffee is placed in front of him and Chuck’s ready with notepad in hand. Schedules are important to Herc, a place for everything, and everything in its place - that's Chuck’s job, keeping things in their place so his boss can find them when he needs them. Herc’s early arrival is a wrench thrown into the smoothly oiled works of Chuck’s day, but Chuck has learned to be adaptable, handling sudden disruptions has become his life, so Chuck heads to the kiosk in the lobby and fills the coffee order right away.

His shoes click on the marble floor, paper cup in hand, when Chuck’s phone buzzes in his palm. The elevator opens and Herc's there, eyes zeroed in on Chuck’s face, the blue gaze flinty and cold. He swipes the screen and Chuck’s phone goes silent. 

"Your coffee, sir," offering the cup to Herc by way of an excuse, and his fingers brush Chuck’s, the barest touch as he passes the coffee over. Stepping into the elevator beside him, his boss presses the button for their floor, and it's a long ride back up to 57 in silence. 

Herc stays behind, lets Chuck exit first, holding the sliding door with his arm, instead of barreling towards his office, as per usual. 

When Chuck reaches his desk, sliding his phone into the drawer, Herc passes, reaches the doorway, and turns, leveling that piercing stare at Chuck once again. Chuck notices the blue tie he's wearing today makes his eyes even brighter.

"Eight-fifteen today, if that's not infringing on your morning," before he shuts the door. 

It's not a question.

It's also ten minutes away, so Chuck types quickly, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge along with his pen and steno pad. 

Setting his voicemail to away, Chuck knocks on the door. 

"Come in."

His eyes are glued to the flat monitor on his desk as Chuck leans in, places the water and glass from the side cabinet in front of him. 

Turning to take his seat, it shocks Chuck when he feels a warm weight on his wrist, sure the look on his face is dumbfounded when he has to look down to verify Herc is, indeed, touching him. 

"Sir?" 

The fingers circling Chuck’s skin are grasping loosely at first, then they tighten, pressure on the small bones in Chuck’s wrist as Herc tugs him in. Turning in his chair, Chuck sees the line of his jacket open over a crisp shirt, the tie knotted at his throat, the fit of his suit skimming over a lethally strong body. 

His pull knocks Chuck off-balance and the force tumbles Chuck into his lap.

Mortified, Chuck jerks back, turns to apologize, when his hand slides across Chuck’s face and his other arm maneuvers beneath Chuck, levering him up, and they're face to face before Chuck realizes he’s more or less sitting in Herc’s lap. In broad daylight, in his office. 

(It's not an unpleasant situation, for it's something he can't deny he’s imagined more than once, because even with hands on his body, Herc’s name - Herc - is the one that falls from his lips.) 

"I'm sorry, I must have tripped..."

"Don't apologize." His voice, though the words are generally few and staccato and heavy with purpose, is compelling, the gravel alluring. It's not the voice of an executive, it's the voice of a cattle ringer, a surprise under the Italian suits and subtle elegance. A little grit under the glamour, and dragging words out of his mouth, him talking to Chuck, directing him, is a frequent fantasy. "Don't ever apologize to me." 

His mouth closes the distance between them, and his arm drops over Chuck’s thighs, holding him fast on his lap. Herc’s lips work across Chuck’s, gentle but firm, unyielding in their need to claim them for his own. It's a battle, of course it is, because he doesn't take anything lightly, ever. This, him, hauling Chuck into his lap on a Thursday morning seems to be where the lines are drawn. Unexpected, but certainly not unwanted, is the way his hands run over Chuck’s thighs, sliding along the edge of his belt, teasing to push beneath the zipper placket - it just proves that he's better at this game than Chuck is. His expression is static when he pulls back, betraying nothing except the fire banked in his eyes, the look that burns Chuck’s skin. 

"I'm not apologizing - sir." 

The single word has his fingers pressing into Chuck’s hips, pushing him down, settling on him. His lips brush Chuck’s ear, teeth sharp against the lobe, where he nips softly before speaking. 

"You were up early this morning." Fingers tease over the muscle of his thigh, running back and forth along the crease of his pants. They slide up further, parting his thighs, moving in to cup Chuck through two layers of fabric. "Next time, wake me up before you leave." 

“I will.” Chuck nods as his head drops down to shoulder, remembering the subtle play of pale sunlight falling across his shoulders, the unguarded softness of his face in sleep. Now his body, usually an unyielding wall, shifts under Chuck’s hands, and the jump and twitch of muscle beneath his fingers is minute but telling. He might be made of granite, Hercules Hansen, but Chuck knows just where to press, like finding water lines in stone, searching for the places that will crack his facade under Chuck’s touch. 

“Sorry?” His grip tightens around Chuck and Chuck has to bite down on his lip to stifle a moan. “Don’t think I heard you.” 

“Jesus, Dad, I said I would. You looked like you needed to sleep.” 

“Could say the same for you, my boy.” Herc traces down the length of Chuck’s cock, hard and heavy, held tight under the restraints of his underwear and the weight of Herc’s palm. “Didn’t sleep last night? You look a little tightly wound.” The rasp of metal teeth unfastening is loud in his office, the only sound other than Chuck’s erratic breaths and the buzz of the central AC. Herc’s fingers are warm, wrapping around Chuck with practiced ease. 

“Someone kept me up.” 

Chuck feels Herc’s smile curve against his skin. “Someone’s got good taste.” 

Herc’s hands are magic, big and knowing and just rough enough to work Chuck exactly the way he likes. With his other arm, he holds Chuck’s body flush against his own, and his mouth finds its way back to Chuck’s, all the while stroking him, pushing Chuck further toward the edge. It’s unfair, Herc knows exactly what Chuck thinks of the suits and the ties, the buttoned-down professional gear, just how much he gets off letting Herc order him around all day. It doesn’t take much to shove him over, nothing more than the thought that someone could walk in and see this combined with a swipe of Herc’s thumb and the thrust of his tongue into Chuck’s mouth, the grip of long fingers through his jacket. 

“Good, you’re good,” Herc coaxes. He knows, by the shift in Chuck’s breathing and the little stuttering motions of his hips, when Chuck’s about to come. Thankfully, Herc’s ready with a cupped palm, trapping the slick mess in his hand, sparing Chuck from having to change before the workday begins. 

Chuck knows there’s a stack of napkins nearby, could pull the handkerchief from his pocket, but instead lifts Herc’s palm to his mouth, tongue darting out, sucking each finger clean. When he’s done, Herc drags his hand along Chuck’s jaw, pulls him in once again, catching the last traces on Chuck’s lips. 

“Now, we ready to proceed?” 

He doesn’t even want to look at the wrinkled mess he’s probably made of Herc’s suit, but Chuck nods, pushes off. 

He adjusts himself, zips back up and makes his way across the office to wash his hands in the small adjoining room. Chuck maneuvers his hair back into place and hopes the next hour calms the red flush creeping up from his collar, the color nearly screaming he’s been jerking (or jerked) off on company time.

Herc’s watching him walk across the room, gaze satisfied, but no less intense. When Chuck seats himself across from his father, he flicks through his notes and ticks the first item of business off his list. 

“Ten-thirty, you’re meeting with Mako to discuss the new energy initiatives. Noon is lunch with Stacker to finalize the rundown for the board meeting, this afternoon is a presentation with the R&D team, followed by a video conference with Sydney at four. Then you asked me to block out dinner for the evening, so you’re free after six.”

Herc starts talking and Chuck goes through three or four pages before they’re finished. When they reach a good stopping point, Herc dismisses him. 

“If there’s anything you need, you know where to find me.” 

He makes it to the door before Herc speaks. 

“Chuck.” He turns, shoulders straight. 

“Yes, sir?” Chuck doesn’t miss the flare of heat in Herc’s eyes before he flips his notes open again.

“About dinner - if you’d order delivery for the house, for seven, I’d appreciate it. I think it’s going to be an early night.” 

Chuck can’t hide the smile that threatens the edge of his mouth, jots down the addition. “Noted.” 

No, when it comes to work, he can't really complain.


End file.
